


5 times Crowley and Halt saw the seasons change, and one time they didn't

by ace_bookdragon



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, M/M, Seasonal, Wedding Fluff, cralt, cralt is the absolute best, fluff until it's not, this should be done sometime in 2021 because i've been procrastinating a LOT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26016505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ace_bookdragon/pseuds/ace_bookdragon
Summary: Seasonal Cralt
Relationships: Crowley Meratyn/Halt O'Carrick, Gilan & Crowley Meratyn, Halt O'Carrick & Will Treaty, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 33





	1. Summer/Fall

Halt and Crowley ride home amid the last dying rays of the summer sun, the light giving the land a golden hue and turning Crowley’s red hair the color of copper. The two are dusty and dirty after a long day in the field. Neither speaks. They don’t have enough energy for that.

Reaching the cabin, they dismount, then unsaddle and groom Cropper and Abelard, turning them loose to graze in the small open space by the cabin. Crowley gives the horses an apple each, laughing softly as their soft lips tickle his palms.

“You feed them too much,” Halt says, but there’s an affectionate note in his voice. He leans against a tree, arms crossed, his cloak seeming to shimmer and meld with the greenery behind him. 

“It’s been a long day. They deserve it,” Crowley says. Halt nods.

They each take a brief shower, dumping buckets of water over their heads, the cold a sure sign that fall is on the way. Halt has a strict no-dirty-bodies-on-the-furniture policy, which is why Crowley takes extra care to clean himself and his clothing. He drapes his sopping garments beside Halt’s on a line strung between two trees.

While Crowley’s still washing, Halt heads to the kitchen and begins making a savory stew. Cooking is his favorite out of the daily chores, and he’s better at it than Crowley is. Halt’s changed out of his dirty uniform into soft woolen pants and a short shirt. His knives are still buckled at his side.

Crowley arrives in the kitchen to see his fiance chopping beef into small cubes while a pot half full of broth simmers on the stove. His stomach gives a loud, audible rumble.

“Food?” he asks hopefully. 

“Must you state the obvious?” is Halt’s dry reply. He casually waves the kitchen knife in Crowley’s direction. Crowley steps back a pace, out of range. “If you want to be helpful, you can go get me an onion.”

Crowley retrieves one from the wicker basket of fruit and vegetables they keep near the stove. He tosses it to Halt, who absentmindedly catches it and starts slicing. He notes that Halt’s eyes don’t tear up as he cuts. The man is amazing. 

Halt dumps the beef cubes and onions into the broth, then sprinkles in a few spices and a glug of his special red wine. He covers the pot and then settles down to wait at the table. Crowley’s stomach gives another loud rumble. 

Halt raises an eyebrow. “You’re going to cause an earthquake with that.”

Crowley grins. “I’m hungry.”

Halt mutters something under his breath about “getting too much like Horace”. Crowley chooses to ignore it.

At the chime of some internal timer, Halt rises to check the stew. As he lifts the lid of the pot, a wonderful smell wafts over to Crowley, the smell of meat and onions and spice. He licks his lips as Halt lifts a ladle to his mouth to take a small sip.

The stew seems to pass muster, because Halt slices a few pieces of bread and toasts them on a skillet before ladling generous helpings of stew into two bowls. He arranges a slice of buttered toast in each, before carefully bringing them to the table, followed by Crowley’s hungry gaze.

“Looks good, hon,” Crowley tells him. Halt gives him one of his special smiles, one reserved just for him. “Thanks.”

After dinner, with Crowley’s belt stretched tight from three large helpings of stew, he sits at the desk in the living room going through reports while Halt reads one of Will’s letters from Seacliff.

Fall is coming. There’s a definite chill in the air now, a sign of frost and red leaves and harvest. The days are still warm, but the sun falls below the horizon earlier and earlier each evening. 

Halt takes a deep breath in, inhaling the chill creeping through the walls of the cabin and burrows deeper into the light jacket he’s wearing. The cold cuts through that and is back to nipping at his skin again in a few moments.

Sighing, Halt puts the letter aside and rises from the couch. He pulls a blanket from the chest and goes to wrap it around himself on the couch, but his eyes fall on Crowley, hunched at the desk.

“Love, you look cold,” Halt says. He tries to wrap the heavy blanket around Crowley, but his fiance shakes it off. 

“Stop! I’m fine, Halt.” Clearly, he’s not, judging by how he hunches low in the chair, shoulders folded in as if to preserve his body heat. 

Halt forces the blanket in around his shoulders. “Don’t move. I’ll go get a fire going.”

He swings his cloak on, venturing out into the night for wood. Thankfully, the pile is nearby, leaning against the house, so all he has to do is feel along the wall to find it. Selecting a few smallish logs, Halt makes his way back inside. He starts a small fire in the fireplace, coaxing a tiny flame to light the kindling. Gradually, he adds a few logs, until the room is lit with flickering yellow and gold flames. 

Crowley turns to him. “Thanks, Halt, dear.”

Halt stoops to give him a little kiss on his bearded face. Crowley smiles against his lips and returns it, bringing his arms up around Halt’s neck and resting them on his dark skin. Halt thinks he could stay like this for a long, long time.

He gestures for Crowley to sit with him on the sofa. Crowley drags the blanket over and wraps it around their bodies. 

Halt can feel a soft, intense heat radiating everywhere—from Crowley, from the blanket, from the fire. And from his own skin. Warm, full of love and hope and happiness.

He pushes himself up to rest his head on Crowley’s shoulder, melting against him. Crowley reaches down and presses his lips into the center of Halt’s dark hair, and they stay like that for a long while, lit by the warm glow of the flames.


	2. Fall/Winter

Halt wakes up to a chill in the air and the sight of snow falling gently outside his window. He sits up, looks around at the familiar bedroom, with the small closet and the last flowers of summer in a vase on the windowsill. He pushes one of the light curtains back and turns his gaze to the land outside.

The world is blanketed in white, snow covering the ground and hanging heavy on the trees. It looks thick, like it’s been there for a while, just piling up on the ground in a smooth sheet. Some has built up on the edge of the windowsill.

“Crowley!” He reaches over and shakes his fiance’s shoulder, though he doubts he’ll respond properly. Crowley isn’t a morning person. “It’s snowing!”

“Mrph.” Crowley rolls toward the wall, bringing the blanket up over his ears and huddling beneath it. “Go away.”

“It’s snowing!” Halt hops out of bed, shivering as the cold air hits him. He puts on his Ranger outfit (the cloak is gray and white, winter issue), plus the dark green scarf Crowley had once knitted him, and goes outside.

For a few moments, he just stands out on the verandah, bundled in his cloak, looking out at the snowy land. These kinds of perfect snowfalls make him think of winters at Dun Kilty, when he was younger and his family was whole. He, Ferris, and Caitlyn would race around in the snow, building snowmen and having snowball fights until their parents called them inside to attend to their royal duties and have a cup of hot chocolate from the kitchens.

He misses those days.

Halt heads around the verandah to the wood pile and grabs a few logs, shoving them under his arm. He brings them inside and coaxes a fire to life in the fireplace, warming the cabin until Crowley emerges from the bedroom in search of breakfast, his red hair messy and still wearing his pajamas. He rubs sleep from his eyes. “Morning.”

“Morning!” Halt says. He’s making coffee now. The rich smell fills the cabin. Crowley comes into the kitchen to accept a cup, then sinks down on the sofa, huddling around the mug. He looks tired. Halt sits next to him, wrapping his arms around him. 

“Come on,” he says eventually. “Let’s go outside.” The fire is making the cabin uncomfortably stuffy. Halt aches to go outside, into the crisp air and stillness. 

Crowley changes out of his pajamas, and then they step outside. Cold hits them, but Halt revels in it, in the freshness and life it gives him. Crowley pulls his scarf up around his mouth. He’s not used to the cold, even after years in Redmont. He spent most of his young life growing up in the south of Araluen, where it’s a bit more temperate.

Halt takes his hand, tugs him down the steps and onto the snowy ground. Snow crunches under their feet as they make their way through the trees to the stables. 

Abelard and Cropper whinny in greeting as they spot them, tossing their heads and trotting around the paddock. Their breath hangs in transparent clouds around their muzzles. 

Crowley pulls his scarf down long enough to call a greeting to Cropper, a huge smile on his face, and Halt thinks _god, I love him_. The light and love on Crowley’s face at the sight of his horse is unmistakable, and Halt has to smile. 

They give their horses an apple each, the last of fall, before they go galloping away. Winter is starting to let its icy breath creep across the land. Now is the time of warm fires and crisp mornings and hot coffee filling every crevice of his body. Halt loves working outside during the winter, the snow and the cold and the icy clarity it brings. 

Crowley slips between the wooden fence rails, laughing as Cropper comes cantering up to him. Cropper’s chestnut coat is tipped with white snow, his mane flying behind him like fire. The little horse skids to a stop in front of Crowley, sending up a cold wet spray that comes in under the scarf, biting into Crowley’s skin. 

Halt follows, and for a few moments the four of them stand there in silence, watching each other through the falling snow. Abelard comes up and nuzzles his hand, looking for another apple. Halt laughs quietly and pats his nose. “Sorry, boy.”

Crowley walks over to Halt. Cropper trots behind him. He puts his arms around Halt, and Halt melts into his embrace, leaning back into his chest. A low note of satisfaction rumbles from his throat.

The horses step closer, pressing up against the two men, joining in. Once, earlier this morning, Halt had reflected that he missed those days from his childhood when he and Ferris and Caitlyn played together in the snow, when they were actually a loving family. 

But now, he thinks, Crowley and the horses are family enough for anyone. And it’ll be official soon.


	3. Winter/Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit messy, but the next chapter is much, much better.

“This might be a good spot,” Crowley says.

Halt leans down from Abelard’s back and peers at the ground. The light filtering through the trees above casts shifting shadows. Perfect for a Ranger picnic. There’s nobody around that he can see. “It’s fine.”

He dismounts and unties a blanket from behind Abelard’s saddle, spreads it out on the ground by the base of a willow. A stream burbles slowly along on the other side of the tree. He lets Abelard go to take a drink of cold water, then turns his horse loose to graze on the new grass, green shoots poking up through the dry remnants of winter.

Crowley opens a wicker basket of food and sets it in the middle of the blanket. There are three bundles and a metal canteen of coffee inside, wrapped in red-and-white checked cloth. Opening one of the bundles, he retrieves a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese. The second has some beef in it. A third reveals two large blueberry muffins, still a little warm from the oven they were baked in. Crowley carefully re-wraps these, then sets the rest of the food in a neat circle on the blanket as Halt turns Cropper loose to graze with Abelard.

Halt sinks down on the blanket next to him. “Hey.” He says it softly, gently.

“Hi,” Crowley says in the same tone. “Let’s eat, it looks good.”

Halt kisses his bearded cheek and agrees.

“So, how are the wedding preparations going?” Halt asks around a mouthful of bread. 

Crowley’s the one making preparations for their wedding. He’s taken a temporary break from his Ranger duties to do most of the planning, and Halt has stepped in nicely to fill the command gap. 

It was decided, after Halt proposed, that Crowley would be the one to take care of those things. Halt lacks a sense of flair. He’d proposed to Crowley one day last summer when they were riding home, out of the blue, nothing but “do you want to get married” and a ring box tossed in his direction. The ring had turned out to be simple, a matte black band with a single, tiny diamond set in the center. It was all Halt had been able to afford. He’d wanted to save for a nicer ring once they’d gotten married.

Crowley can still fondly recall the bright red of his fiance’s cheeks. It’s similar to how he looks now.

“Everything’s going fine,” he says. “I’m working on attendance. We need to figure out if we can invite the Corps.” He takes a bit of bread layered in cheese, meat, and butter.

Halt sucks in a breath and puts his food down, horrified. “No. Nope. No. We don’t need more than a few people to see us getting married.” 

“But I’m their Commandant,” Crowley replies. “And you’re a senior officer. Even if I was marrying a woman, at least some of them would have to show up. You know, represent the Corps, congratulate on their commander—”

“No,” Halt says. “We don’t need it. Will, Alyss, Pauline, Arald, Gilan, and Horace will be enough. We’re Rangers, we don’t do that sort of thing.”

“Point,” Crowley concedes. “But still. We can have the Rangers, we just don’t make a big fuss about the rest.”

“No Rangers, no big fuss. Just you, me, some close friends, and Chubb’s cooking.” This is not at all what Halt had expected getting married to be like. He’d thought it would be a quiet affair, somewhere deep in the forest with the people he knew and loved the most. But now it’s going to be some big affair! 

Nice going, past Halt, he thinks, falling in love with this commanding, crazy idiot.

Crowley notes the set of Halt’s face, the grim line of his mouth. He ignores it, even though he knows it will piss Halt off. But he’s been doing that for years now, so what’s one more time? It’s not like he’ll stop once they’re married, either.

He takes a deep breath, prepares himself for the storm. “Both of us are senior officers to the King, too. He needs to be invited.”

“What?” Halt asks explosively. He’s beginning to regret having Crowley plan everything. Really, really regret it.

“It would be awkward,” Crowley says. “Don’t bother arguing. I’ve already sent the invitation.”

“Crowley!” Halt’s eyes flash angrily. He takes in a deep breath.

“I knew you wouldn’t agree, and Pauline told me it would be for the best—”

“That woman can go jump in a moat,” he growls. 

Halt sighs. The invitation has already been sent. He’s trapped with the King at his wedding. He makes an angry sound in the back of his throat, the sound he makes when he knows defeat has come for him, and hates it.

Crowley notices it, and smiles a little to himself. “Come on, this was supposed to be a nice lunch. Quit being so argumentative.”

“No,” Halt says, and folds his arms. He draws breath to say something, begins, but Crowley leans forward and shuts him up with a kiss. Surprised, Halt leans away for a second, then realizes and responds eagerly. Crowley laughs against his mouth. His arms go up around Halt’s neck, and Halt’s wrap around his waist.

When they finally pull apart, Crowley laughs, the sound big and bright and warm. “That shut you up.”

Halt glares at him once, trying to put as much contempt and anger as he can into it, but his small smile and the next words he says completely ruin the image. “It’s always nice if I’m with you.”

He takes Crowley’s hand, and they both lean back against the rough bark of the willow tree. Their eating picks up in pace, and within a few minutes everything has been devoured, the coffee gone after a few big gulps. But still they sit there, not speaking, taking in the crisp air, the green beginning to poke up everywhere. The new life. 

Spring. It’s starting.

Halt sighs in contentment, and Crowley grips his hand a little bit tighter. The horses wander over after a while, done with grazing. Abelard pushes his soft muzzle against Crowley’s face, then looks over at Halt as if to say, Good choice. I like him too.


	4. Spring/Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding!

Halt can hardly believe it. The day is here.

He checks his clothing one more time. His formalized Ranger uniform is impeccably clean. The cloak with its two embroidered silver arrows hangs off his right shoulder. His knives are in their matte-black scabbards, hanging heavy at his side. Everything is neat, clean, exactly as it should be.

Halt tugs at his tunic. 

“Relax,” Will tells him from where he’s lounging in one of the cabin’s chairs. He’s wearing the same uniform. It strikes him that this is similar to the day he graduated. Halt had told him to relax then. Now their positions are reversed. 

Halt checks the time again. “Let’s get going.”

Will follows him out of the cabin, out to where Tug and Abelard stand waiting. Crowley and Cropper are nowhere to be seen. Probably doing something to prepare for the wedding.

Today Halt and Crowley are getting married.

Halt still can’t really believe that this day is finally here. After years of knowing each other, falling in love, defying the norms of Araluen culture, they are finally, finally getting married. It’ll be official.

He almost wants to break into crazy laughter at the thought of what his family would say if they learned he was marrying another man. His parents would be disapproving, telling him that he was indecent, not fit to be a proper heir. Ferris would laugh at him and act like it was a joke. Or that Crowley was some sort of… disgusting commoner that made Halt love him through underhand means. But Caitlyn would be happy for him, giving him her sweet smile and telling him congratulations.

He wishes he could see her.

Abelard comes up to him, Tug following behind, and pushes his muzzle at Halt’s chest. Halt pats his nose, then smiles as Tug copies Abelard. It’s like they’re saying good luck.

Will comes over and pulls Tug’s reins away from Halt. He mounts up, and together they ride down into the forest. Halt can hear the river burbling around somewhere nearby, and he inhales the warm air, takes in the deep green of the leaves, the smell of life.

Dusk is falling, but Will and Halt know these trails like the backs of their hands. They’ve used them hundreds of times over the years, and though they wind and twist crazily through the trees, it only takes a few minutes for the two to get to the place where the wedding will be held.

Halt and Will dismount at the far edge of a large clearing, and fade into the shadows of the trees. Already they can see a small crowd assembled in white chairs, with a long middle aisle leading up to a raised stage. Prominent among the crowd are some close friends: Lady Pauline and Alyss, sitting in the front row in their white Courier’s gowns; Baron Arald, standing on the stage, waiting to wed Halt and Crowley; King Duncan, Princess Cassandra, and Horace at their own table off to one side, surrounded by attendants. 

The crowd falls silent as Baron Arald calls for their attention, and starts: “We are gathered here for the union of Crowley Meratyn and Halt O’Carrick.” 

Halt walks up the central aisle at his cue, Will a few paces behind him. They seem to materialize out of the shadows, even with the slight sheen of satin on their cloaks. Halt strides up the two steps to the stage, and moves off to one side of Arald. A few moments pass, with him blinking in the bright lantern light, and then Crowley is there, too, walking up from the middle aisle with Gilan.

Halt catches his breath at the sight, at the way the light catches Crowley’s red hair and turns it liquid, to flowing lines of red like fire against the darkness. He’s wearing the same uniform as Halt, with the white silk shirt, tunic, and embroidered half cape. But Crowley’s are embellished with silver stitching on the edges, in an oakleaf pattern. He stands tall, proud, as handsome as Halt has ever seen him.

Crowley looks over at Halt, at the other man’s dark hair beard, graying even this early in life, the lines etched on his face from worry and pain and grief. There’s a small smile on Halt’s face, and Crowley drinks it in, knowing how rare and wonderful it is.

Gilan and Will stand off to the side, a bit behind the two men. Out of the corner of Crowley’s eye, he can see them exchanging big, goofy grins. They’ll dance later, as friends. 

There are short speeches from Arald and the King, as well as Lady Pauline and Horace, who is sitting with Cass at the royal table. Will and Gilan will talk later in the night, as everyone eats. After the ceremony. Will’s eyes touch on Horace chatting animatedly with Cass, and his expression softens into one of gentle longing. Halt knows the look. It’s the one he’d given Crowley for years, before they started dating. 

When instructed to do so, Crowley comes forward, and he and Halt stand close, facing each other, as they speak their vows. They promise to be loyal, to love and support, to be at each other’s side. Crowley smiles as he slips a ring of black metal and gold onto Halt’s left hand, and Halt’s slim fingers are exceedingly gentle as he does the same to Crowley.

Halt has been following the ceremony closely, his attention focused solely on this one space, on this one man and the words he is speaking, the firm, gentle press as Crowley takes him into his arms and kisses him deeply. On the spark that leaps to life in his heart as he returns the kiss, blazing and bright. 

The night is warm, but not nearly as warm as the glow that surrounds Crowley as he takes in the lantern light, the fireflies blinking around them, the feel of Halt’s hand in his own as they leave the stage again, walking across the grass to sit at their little table with Will and Gilan.

Arald claps his hands, and more lanterns are lit, the clearing blazing with light as people rise from their seats, stretching and then surging forward to offer their congratulations. 

“Congrats, Halt,” Cassandra says, hugging him. That’s all she is able to say before Horace appears beside her and reaches over to wrap his arms around him. Will joins in, from Halt’s other side, and Halt’s chair is knocked backwards into the grass as he goes down under their arms in a pile of bodies. 

Halt pretends to dislike it, making his usual snarky comments at them as he tries to push them off, but secretly, his heart is bursting with happiness. This moment is perfect.

Finally, he gets everybody off of him and makes it safely back into his chair. Alyss and Gilan had joined in, too, Alyss leaving her poise and formality behind, and now the five young people stand on the other side of the table, at a safe distance. He grumbles a little, then shoos Cass and Horace back over to the royal table.

“Halt,” a familiar voice says, and he turns to see Lady Pauline standing nearby, tall and beautiful in her white Courier’s gown. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” He gives her a small smile. 

She leans toward him and pushes a little blue box across the table. He closes his fingers around it, pulls it closer and nudges Crowley in the ribs. Crowley leans closer and watches as Halt unties the yellow ribbon. Halt takes out two small gold pins. A laurel branch, with an oakleaf hanging down from the end of the stalk.

“The Diplomatic Service and the Ranger Corps often work side by side,” Pauline says, resting her hand on the table. “I thought it would be nice to have something to represent our partnership. You might not wear it normally, but it would be a nice touch for formal events.”

“Thank you.” Halt carefully pins his to his shirt. Crowley does the same. 

“Have a nice night, both of you.” Pauline smiles and walks back into the crowd, giving them a final wave.

A late dinner is served, the guests eating in their chairs, still spread in neat lines on the grass. A horde of Rangers come up a few minutes in, surrounding the newlyweds and offering their congratulations. There are a few jokes and some gentle teasing. Halt’s at the top of his sarcasm game with them, and they eventually drift away, back to the shadows.

Will rises to give his speech, saying that Halt was the best mentor he could ever hope for, that he is closer to a father to him now, and Crowley is the best person Halt could ever end up with. He talks about the stories of their loyalty and care for each other, before they had even known they were in love. 

Gilan commends Crowley for his jokes, his willingness to laugh and lead. He speaks of how Crowley talks to the worried apprentices at their first Gathering, reassuring them and telling silly stories after he assesses them.

Crowley wipes away a tear at the sincerity of the two young men. He looks over at Halt, who is crying silently as well, though his head is bowed like he’s very interested in his chest.

Halt’s heart is swelling with happiness, pride, and love, getting bigger and bigger and then, finally, breaking as his tears come. He stares down at his dress shirt, and wishes very badly for the comfort of his cowled Ranger cloak.

They rise to dance, and now Crowley can’t believe that this night is really happening. He really is taking Halt’s rough hand in his and leading him to the stage, where everything has been cleared away. 

Crowley and Halt make their way for one circuit of the stage, Halt’s hand steady on Crowley’s shoulder, Crowley pressing his palm into his husband’s back.

Husband. It’s what they are now. For as long as they both shall live. Crowley leans forward to kiss Halt’s bearded cheek, right at the corner of his mouth. Halt pulls away to give him a look as if to say “we’re in public”, and he laughs, tipping his head back and letting the sound ring out as Gilan and Will step up to the stage to dance.

The night goes hazy and warm, and all Crowley can focus on is Halt, the quirk of his lips as he smiles, and the only thing he can think is _I love this person so damn much._


	5. Summer/Fall (a year gone by)

“Wake up,” Crowley whispers.

Halt opens his eyes, blinks blearily in the glow of Crowley’s lantern. He’s in the bedroom, tucked under the white covers of their bed. Crowley stands over him, shining that infernal light into his eyes. 

“Our date, remember?”

Halt wonders why on earth Crowley has chosen to have their date so damn late at night. Why, why, why. They should be sleeping right now. But Crowley’s always been a night owl, prone to doing weird things at weird hours.

“Blurgh,” Halt says. “Why now?”

Crowley smiles, takes his hand to pull him up into a sitting position. Halt feels the callouses on Crowley’s warm palm rubbing against his skin. His husband’s face is unreadable. “Just come with me.”

Halt stretches. He doesn’t bother to put his uniform on, just gets out of bed and follows Crowley in his soft gray woolen pajamas, barefoot. 

Another fall has come. It’s been just over a year since he proposed, and Crowley accepted. Now, they are married. Married. Officially together, for the rest of their lives. He still can’t quite believe it, even after a few months. Despite his annoyance about being woken up, Halt is excited for whatever Crowley has planned for them.

“I’m surprised you got up,” Crowley comments as he leads him outside onto the veranda. He hasn’t let go of Halt’s hand, but strides ahead of him a little, leading the way. 

“Only for you, love,” Halt replies happily. The wood is smooth under his feet from years of boots tromping on it. He can smell the forest around them, the scent of moss and growing things. When they leave the veranda his feet meet grass and the sharp edges of pine needles.

“If you hadn’t, I’d probably have pulled you out of bed and dragged you here whether you wanted it or not.”

The corner of Halt’s mouth quirks up a little at that. Crowley slides his arm around Halt’s waist, slowing so Halt can come up beside him, even though he knows Halt hates it when he tries to accommodate for his height. He has no idea why. 

Sure enough, Halt halfheartedly mutters something unpleasant under his breath, but doesn’t move Crowley’s arm.

The night is dark blue, a slight chill in the air, the wind whispering in the trees. The moon is a bright crescent above, painting the landscape in muted blues and grays. An owl hoots somewhere.

Crowley takes Halt into the woods, to a spot not far beyond the cabin. It’s a little clearing, the trees standing tall, reaching for the heavens.

“What on earth?” Halt asks. “Date night in this bare clearing?” It’s not something it seems like Crowley would do. Crowley is the one who goes over the top on these types of things.

“Ssh,” Crowley says, taking his arm away and darting toward a bush just inside the tree line. “You’ll see.”

Halt loses sight of him in the trees, but when Crowley emerges, carrying two blankets, some pillows, and a little basket, he sighs as he begins to understand what’s going on. 

Never mind. This is Crowley’s usual style. He is going over the top.

“Stargazing.” Halt says. “Really?”

“What’s more romantic than the stars?” Crowley asks innocently. He knows that Halt is not someone who likes cliches. At least, Halt pretends to not like them.

“They’re just—” Halt gestures vaguely upward at the sky. “Things.”

“And?” Crowley spreads one of the blankets on the ground and starts arranging pillows. “C’mere, you big softie.” 

Halt wants to argue, but he’s too tired and his reflexes seem dulled. He’s not as alert as he usually is. Maybe that’s because he knows Crowley’s always there with him now, awake when he is not, keeping an eye out as he goes through reports and reads early in the morning, unable to sleep. Crowley’s presence is comforting.

So Halt walks over to the blanket, the grass wet beneath his bare feet, and sits next to his husband amid a cluster of pillows. Crowley’s arm wraps around him again, and he leans close, reveling in the warmth of his body heat against the chill in the air. 

“Hey,” Crowley says after a while, resting his head against Halt’s. 

“Hi.” Halt smiles. 

They end up burrowing down in the mess of blankets and pillows. Halt pulls a blanket over them and twists onto his back to stare up at the night sky, stars sparkling high above. His hand finds Crowley’s under the blanket, holds it tightly.

Crowley turns, too, and watches the stars. They don’t speak for a while, just enjoying each other’s presence. Crowley finds the sight of Halt, all rumpled and soft and a little sleepy comforting. His husband will always be by his side, for better or for worse. No matter what. 

He scoots a little closer, the length of their bodies pressed together under the blanket. Everything is soft and warm, and he’s so, so content right now. It’s a perfect moment. He has his husband next to him, and they're outside and _together_.

The bright moon traces its path through the sky above them, as they lay there, occasionally talking softly. For some reason, the forest discourages normal levels of speech.

Crowley falls asleep, for once, and Halt just watches him, the way he curls onto his side, the slow rise and fall of his breath. He hasn't seen Crowley this way in a long time. Halt tucks the blanket further around his husband's shoulders to ward off the chill. Crowley stirs a little in his sleep, but for once doesn't wake up.

For some reason, Halt can’t sleep now that he's awake. It’s annoying. He wants to, and he’s so tired. But he can’t. He tries, but his brain won’t shut off.

It occurs to Halt that maybe Crowley is asleep now, long before he usually is, is because he feels comfortable around Halt, like his presence can keep danger away. Or maybe it’s because all those nights of doing his Ranger duties on just a few hours of sleep have finally caught up to him and he can’t do it anymore.

Whatever the case, Crowley sleeps and Halt looks up at the stars and occasionally at the sleeping form of his husband, until the stars fade and the pale glow of the sun lights the eastern horizon.


End file.
